


Bastion

by Foxcote



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adoption, Earth is doing fine, Established Relationship, I know some people don't like that so be warned, Keith and Krolia have a good relationship, Keith and Lance living their best life, Keith character exploration, M/M, Mentions of Alteans having a shady history, POV Third Person Limited, Post Series, alien child adoption, descriptions of violence, everyone works through their trauma, mentions of (alien) child abuse/exploitation, meta-canon speculation, speculative world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 16:12:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16726680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxcote/pseuds/Foxcote
Summary: In a healing universe, Keith and Lance await the arrival of their daughter.





	Bastion

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> Fic pretty much does what it says on the tin.
> 
> 100% indulgent post-series established klance. They love each other and are excited to be dads. Mainly Keith-centric and themes of family n stuff.
> 
> Fair bit of Krolia just because.
> 
> basically 10k+ of Keith and lance being great together and doing their best. Some speculative character exploration for Keith.
> 
> Warning for some dark themes, descriptions of violence and mentions of (alien) child abuse/exploitation
> 
> Enjoy!

 

Keith held back a smile as he watched the frantic jumping of Lance’s knee. He’s quite a sight to take in at the moment; tall frame is hunched over in a cheap plastic chair in the medical wing’s loading port. The joy that _should_ have been resting on his face was overshadowed by panic.  


 

  
“Lance.”

 

  
  
Lance didn’t stop jigging his knee, but his eyes moved -flinched- to his own.

 

 

“Calm. Down.” Keith emphasised each word slowly. When Lance was this rattled, his language processing wasn’t top notch. “Everything is fine. This is going to be fine.”

 

 

Lance sighs, forcibly stilling his knee. He puts his head in his hands and pulls them down his face, groaning. 

 

 

“I know, I know. I just…I can’t process this, Keith. This is…I mean we were in _bed_ like-“ He searched for the loading bay’s clock. It’s a classic analog model that most earth-going aliens made fun of. It read 2:46 am.“twenty minutes ago and now…This is actually happening. Jesus, this is _nuts_.” His sentence trails off with a tight, disbelieving laugh and Keith _feels_ it.

 

 

Lance’s eyes are surrounded by a dark halo, but the light in them is intense. There’s an energy radiating from him that is too big for the small, unoccupied admin room they have secluded themselves in. He assumed it was a customs checkpoint for incoming medical shipments, given that it was directly attached to the loading bay of the hospital. 

 

 

Keith had moved them here from the main 24-hour visitor lounge not five minutes after they arrived. Lance had habit of chatting incessantly when he was anxious, which upset some of the more asleep occupants of said lounge. Technically they weren't supposed to be in here after hours, but people on earth tended to let them get away with little administrative violations. They did save the planet, after all.

 

 

  
Keith doesn't begrudge his husband’s condition. Truthfully, he was running on just as much of a buzz as Lance right now. One of them had to have their wits about them for this, though, and Keith supposed that was going to have to be him.

 

 

He pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against and made his way across the room to Lance, dragging with him an equally crappy chair and sitting down next to him. He preferred to be up and pacing when he was agitated, but Lance clearly needed help right now.  


 

  
“Hey.”Keith pressed his hand placatingly on Lance’s hunched shoulders, feeling the tense muscle beneath his several layers of hastily thrown on coats. “Look at me.” A wide blue gaze fixes on him. He brings a hand up to cradle the sharp angle of his jaw. “We’re ready for this, Ok?”

 

 

It was a statement of fact, and Keith wanted to make sure Lance knew it. He brushes his thumb across his cheek while he waited for him to respond. There’s still a few light-years between whatever catastrophic fantasy he’s conjuring and their current reality, he thinks. Lance carried a cloud of anxiety. It was always there-fostered by self-doubt and flayed open in war- and it followed him still. It was a part of him Keith had spent a long time learning to navigate.

 

 

Lance looked at him like he was trying to find some kind of answer. his hair was windswept and still had a fine layer of dust from the hover bike ride over. It was a little surreal seeing the usually pedantically pristine man look so unpresentable in public, but then again, this whole situation was pretty surreal.

 

 

Lance must have found some similar quirk to Keith’s appearance because, despite himself, a smile trembled across his face. He huffed out a weak laugh and placed his hand over Keith’s own. Keith couldn’t help smiling himself at the subtle touch.

 

 

“ God, I’m such a mess. _I_ should be the one holding it together right now. I have experience with this kind of stuff.”  


 

  
  
“Not with your _own_ baby. It’s different.” Krolia had told him that. Told him that he would be scared at first. That he would suddenly believe he was doing everything so, so wrong. And she was right; he was suitably terrified. Ecstatic, but terrified.

  
  
  
-And currently incredibly in love with his wreck of a husband, who looked like he had been running a marathon on an adrenalin shot. So in love, in fact, that he was going to get him some tea.

 

 

Lance let out an unsure hum. Keith sighed and leant forward to press a soft kiss just below his hairline before standing up in one fluid movement.“Peppermint or green? You’re not having coffee.”

 

 

Lance frowned at his addendum. “green. Not too bitter. Thanks”

  
  
  
Keith walked into the small attached office kitchen and fished through the pantry staples. Ever since alien integration in this area, the category of ‘staples’ had growth immensely. It took him a solid minute to find sachets of green tea amongst the weird and wonderful array of dried alien roots and leaves.

 

 

He made two cups. Tea was always his only option. Coffee gave him stomach cramps. Not surprising, seeing as it was mildly toxic when ingested by galra. Another useful piece of information provided by his mother.

 

 

The smell of the cupboard’s stale air brought him back to the other day, when he was stacking several cans of specially imported infant formula atop each other in their own pantry. He’d spent hours scouring over the galran text that encircled them; trying to make sure they were categorised by the correct development stage and ingredients. 

 

 

Lance had said he was ‘exhibiting nesting behaviours’, which made him sincerely regret giving him that translated galran parenting book. Krolia, who came around later for dinner, agreed with Lance’s diagnosis. The traitor.

 

 

So sue him if he didn’t want his child to be malnourished. If their appetite was even remotely in line with most other galrans they were going to eat a _lot._ Hell, Keith was only half galra and he nearly ate his father out of house and home, one soup can at a time.

 

 

-Inhumanly high metabolism. It was a gift and a curse.

 

 

picking up the two cups and a couple of cookies from a tin left on the counter he returned to Lance, whose knee had started jumping again. He approached him with his placating offering.

  
  
  
“Tea. And a cookie. Make sure you eat it.”

 

 

Lance took both gingerly “Can’t eat. Too excited.”  


  
  
Keith rolled his eyes, again sitting himself down next to Lance “ you’ve used up like, a days worth of energy stressing and it’s not even three am. Eat the damn cookie or you’re gonna pass out.” Keith took a bite of his own; leading by example. Lance begrudgingly did the same.

 

 

There was a stretch of quiet as they nursed their drinks. 

 

 

“how purple do you think she’ll be?”

 

 

Keith took a contemplative sip of his tea.“I don’t know. Purple. Is there a scale for purple?”

 

 

“ Some galra are like…Blue purple and some are eggplant purple or lavender purple or plum purple…”

 

  
Keith rubbed at his eyes. “they’re all purple, Lance. one isn't ‘more’ purple than the other.”

 

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

 

“All I know is that she’s galra, female and a baby. That’s all Krolia said. We’ll know more when they get here.” 

 

 

That morning, Krolia’s message had snapped him out of sleep. The shrill emergency line tone alerting him to a wall of concise galran text on his phone. That was his first hint it was important. She usually sent him messages in English to keep her language skills sharp. The message itself was a terse set of instructions that he first gleaned through his sleep-addled mind.

 

 

“ _Newborn galra female…Medical clearance confirmed…evacuated from hostile territory…en route to earth…leave for central medical facility immediately…Will call when able.”_

 

 

After reading it over twice more he had woken up Lance none-too-gently and after five minutes of confused panic both of them were dressed, loaded onto his speeder and tearing off towards the hospital; a very confused looking Kosmo-after a rushed and incomplete explanation by Keith- watching them leave from their porch.

 

 

But apparently, Krolia hadn’t expected them to arrive this soon because she sure as hell wasn’t here yet. 

 

 

So now here they were; two high-strung war veterans sitting in an empty office freeloading refreshments.  


 

“Do you think they’re…You know, _alright?_ Shouldn’t she have called by now?”

 

 

“She’s probably just operating in a closed communication field. Most ships used by the Blades have them installed as a cautionary measure. She’s not going to take any  risks travelling with a baby.”  


 

 

_our baby._

 

 

Fuck.

 

 

That made him feel…something.

 

  
  
Keith cleared his throat. “It’s only been half an hour. No need to panic.”

 

  
  
Lance huffed and leant his weight against Keith’s side “You’re right. I know you’re right.” He drank deeply from his cup, before setting it on the small desk next to him. “Was nice of Krolia to escort them herself.”

 

 

“did you really think she’d let anyone else do it?”  


 

 

Lance snorted “I guess not.” 

 

 

It had been a recurring joke over the past few months; Krolia’s intense and poorly concealed enthusiasm with their adoption endeavour. It became apparent just the day after they had approached her with their decision. Lance had responded to a knock on their door and been confronted with a huge parcel containing all manner of galran imports; parenting manuals, cloth samples, baby toys, crib catalogues and a small drive containing ‘over five hundred academic articles of developmental galran behavioural psychology’.

 

 

“Just for your consideration”, she’d said when he’d asked her about it.

 

 

It really was nice, Keith thought. To have the support of family. 

 

 

Especially when you were looking to adopt a galra kid and said family had contacts with, and the respect of, most of the transient galra child welfare communities operating after the war.

 

 

“It’s kinda weird. She’s meeting her grandmother before us.” Lance said wistfully.

 

 

_Before her parents. We’re going to be her parents. Holy shit.  
_

 

 

Keith subdued the wave of breathlessness that washed over him at the thought. 

 

 

“Lance, for the love of god do _not_ call Krolia a grandmother. Not to her face.”

 

 

He received a crooked grin in response “Grandma Krolia. Granny Krolia. Co-Leader of the Blades of Marmora and number one holiday babysitter; Krolia.”  


 

 

Keith tried valiantly to stop the dumb grin spreading to his own face. He could feel Lance’s delirium. The trembles and edges to his voice, the tenseness in his shoulder as it pressed into his side. Those bright, bright _exhausted_ eyes.

 

 

“you’re ridiculous.” he breathed. His throat felt thick with something. Something between adoration and a deep, dark unknown that frightened him a little. 

 

 

He was suddenly very aware of the ring lying against his chest; just below his clavicle and secured safely around his neck but a silver chain. They both wore them this way; their tactile memory too used to thick gloves and weaponry and clasping at rubble to be comfortable with the alternative.

 

 

Keith’s hand felt too empty. He sought out Lance’s with his own; finding immediate comfort in its warmth. Lance said nothing; Just threaded his fingers between Keith’s in return.  


 

 

“Lance?”

 

 

“hmm?”

 

 

“Thank you for doing this. It means a lot to me.” 

 

 

“Keith…” His name is a gentle reprimand.

 

 

“I know I’ve said it already. Heaps. But I need you to know.”

 

 

It had been Keith’s desire to adopt a galra child. He knew it was selfish of him. Why the fuck would Lance want an alien kid? Least of all a _galra_ kid. Lance deserved to be the father of perfect, adorable _human_ children. Ones like his nieces and nephews. The type of kids he probably fantasised about having since he was in his teens because Lance was _made_ to be a dad. Hell, with the help of alien tech they could have their own _biological_ children. 

 

 

But Keith had seen things while he worked as a blade. The back alley ‘orphanages’ crammed with angry, yellow-eyed children. The suspicious amount of money that changed hands there. The shady non-galra vendors across less-policed sectors who inexplicably had galra children tending to their stalls, avoiding eye contact with anyone who passed by. The collars and bracelets and tags and scars taut against purple skin. 

 

 

Kolivan had explained it to him, with his usual cold brevity. Galra weren't liked by most races, but they were useful. Sturdy, strong and hard-working. And, if bought young, fairly easy to train. 

 

 

There was a sadistic pleasure in it too, Keith imagined. Having a member of your oppressor's race doing your most menial bidding. something to brag about at family reunions.

 

 

The worst were the ones kept behind closed doors. The ones with grip bruises that looked out at him and his entourage through obscured windows with harrowing, blank stares. The ones that were unlucky enough to be born pretty into a horrendously ugly world and had long since given up on hoping for a better one.

 

  
Galra kids didn’t get adopted into loving families because _why the fuck would they?_ Who would want to take in the wayward offspring of the most loathed species in the universe? 

 

 

There were millions of lost and desperate children across the cosmos in need of a home. Who would take the ones that came with a target on their back and a chip on their shoulder?

 

 

It didn’t help that, as babies, they had a reputation. They were temperamental, highly sensitive, physically demanding and ate with the hunger of a black hole. They weren't placid, cooing babies, like the Olkari, adorably clownish like the Bytor, or endlessly content and cherubic like Alteans. They were restless and stubborn; resenting the universe from the moment they were born into it.

 

 

They were a lot like human babies, actually. 

 

 

Allura’s first time witnessing a human baby’s temper tantrum had been enlightening. Keith and Pidge had spent a solid five minutes peeling her away from the confused mother in the market square. By the distraught look on the princesses’s face, she thought the infant was eitherdying or possessed by a rift spirit. The mother’s cheery “she’s just moody today” didn’t really seem to convince her otherwise. 

 

 

_“You’d be surprised how high human babies rank on the scale of child-rearing difficulty”_ Krolia had explained “ _They’re right up there with galra, I’d say. So much agitation packed into such tiny bodies. It’s almost unbelievable.”_  


 

 

When he’d finally approached Lance one evening to voice his desire- after staring at a wall and psyching himself up for twenty minutes- he’d been prepared to launch into a spiel about his experiences with galra orphans and how it hit a little too close to home and how he just _needed_ to do this. He’d been prepared for conflict. A fight. Disappointment. Heartbreak.

 

 

He hadn’t been prepared for Lance to let out a stunned bark of laughter, launch at him from his side of the couch, and lock him into a vice-grip hug

 

 

_“Is that why you’ve been skulking around all week, Keith? I thought you were going to tell me you had a terminal illness or something. Jesus Christ don’t scare me like that! Of course we can adopt a galra you damn turkey.”_

 

 

Keith hadn’t known quite how to respond, so he’d just hugged back, rattled with relief and letting out choked sounds that he couldn’t place as laughs or sobs.

 

 

Lance had been extra attentive to him that evening. Fingertips tracing the maroon tripes that had blossomed on his back shortly after earth’s liberation. Nose brushing against the sheen of peach fuzz hair (fur?) that extended behind his jaw and down the nape of his neck as he rocked above him. Pressing his ear a little lower on his chest the afterglow, when it would vibrate with a low, soothing rumble. Lance took his time cherishing all the subtle oddities of his hybrid body that nobody else was privy to. A tactile reassurance; the kind Keith could understand.

 

 

_You’re different. I know. I love you._

 

 

It was still so extraordinary to him. Being understood so easily. Loved so completely.

 

 

Sitting there in that admin room, heart brimming dangerously with _something_ , Keith could barely handle the look of adoration he was receiving from his husband.  


 

  
“How many times do I have to say it, you big sap? We’re in this together. I don’t care if we raise a kid from every alien race in the coalition _except_ humans. As long as I get to raise them with you, I’m good.”

 

 

Lance lifted their joined hands and pressed his lips to Keith’s knuckles. It was casual; almost careless, but he felt the warmth down to his marrow. “Besides,” he started, wistfully swaying their hands in his grip “who says I don’t want a cool purple daughter?”

 

 

‘Daughter’. Lance says it with such ease; adaptable as ever in the face of change. He’s still nervous-a tension behind his eyes and the twitch in his smile- But Keith knew that Lance was so much more prepared than him. Because Lance just radiated love like a fucking wellspring. Like it was physically uncomfortable for him _not_ to.

 

 

Keith swallowed.  


 

  
“I love you.”

 

 

“I love you too, Keith.” He squeezed his hand and gave him an almost pitying look “This is really doing a number on you too, huh?”

 

 

Keith grunted.

 

 

“I’m not going to lie, I’m glad it’s just us here. I don’t think any of the others could handle seeing you like this.”

 

 

“Lance, when we got here you were shaking so bad that guy at reception thought you were having a panic attack.”

 

 

“Yeah, but that’s _me_. Heaven forbid Hunk or Pidge sees what an absolute teddy bear the big, bad, handsome, cool, sexy,-”  


 

 

“Shut it.”  


 

  
“- charming leader of Voltron has become.” He tutted theatrically “ what a sight.”

 

 

“you say that like you had nothing to do with it.”

 

 

Keith immediately realised his mistake when Lance stared at him with the wide-eyed awe of a kid unleashed on a pile of Christmas presents.

 

 

“ Aww, _Keith_ …”

 

 

_shit_

 

 

“ That’s gotta be one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said.”

 

 

He couldn’t quite bite back the grin that twitched onto his face. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

 

 

“Bring it in buddy!” Lance let go of his hand so as to awkwardly throw open his arms for a hug. The leg of his chair squeaked against the linoleum as he shifted.  


 

  
Keith barely moved to indulge him before Lance had latched onto him heartily. He circled his own arms around the broad expanse of his shoulders; never one to turn down a hug.

 

 

“We’ve been married for nearly two years can you _please_ not call me ‘buddy’?”

 

 

“Force of habit, hotshot- no can do.” He gives his back an apologetic pat before leaning back and kissing him soundly. It’s anaesthetic; dulling the anxious babble in the back of his head. And, like always, it’s over just a split second too soon.

 

 

“For what it’s worth, I still think you’re badass. And easily the hottest alien I know.”

 

 

“Thanks, Lance.”

 

 

Lance made a rolling motion with his hand. Keith rolled his eyes fondly.

 

 

“And you’re the most beautiful person I know.”  


 

 

“ _ugh._ You’re not supposed to respond like _that_.” Lance actually averted his gaze with a huff “always gotta one-up me…”

 

 

Looks were a tender subject when it came to Lance. After a series of particularly nasty scrabbles in a dismantled empire hub, he was left with a number of deep facial wounds. He’d had several tissue regeneration procedures over six months to bring vision back to his left eye and he was still, nearly two years later, on a low dose of painkillers for nerve damage caused by a debris shard the sliced open the soft flesh behind his right ear.

 

 

His face was littered with memories of the trauma, running pale against the warm glow of his skin. The most aggressive was the one that extended from just above his left brow, diagonally across his nose and tapering off just at the soft flesh of his lip. An insurgent’s blade breezing through flesh and cartilage like warm butter.

 

 

Keith had been with him when the bandages were first removed, holding his hand in some alien outpost hospital as he’d worked up the courage to look in a small handheld mirror given to him by a ward nurse. Lance had never been vain, Not truly, But Keith hadn’t really realised until then how much of his worth he saw reflected in his appearance. The grim resignation that stared back from the mirror through the tangle of still-raw, the torn skin had frightened him.

 

 

It happened two weeks before their wedding. 

 

 

Keith still felt a swell of pride when he remembered Lance, eyepatch, limp and all, walking down the aisle towards him; smile as wide as the still-tender scars on his face would allow. Despite the dysphoria and the pain, he’d refused to reschedule.  


 

 

_“I’ve wasted enough time out of wedlock with you. Besides, I can make do with my raw charisma,”_ he’d said, channelling as much cheesy smarm as he could through his functioning eye while they swayed aimlessly on the dance floor _“today you’re pretty enough for both of us, sweetheart.”_

 

 

He had been a little loopy on painkillers that day but he swore he remembered the whole thing ‘right down to Shay and Hunk’s adorable matching bowties’. The only concession was that anyone watching a recording would think Lance was a chronic giggler. And very liberal with his PDA.

 

 

His scars were faded now, like Keith’s own. A reminder of how he survived, rather than how he had hurt. Lance had accepted them as a part of him. Keith simply regarded them as another feature map beneath his lips.

 

 

He watched Lance swipe his teacup and drain the cooling liquid in it. A sudden surge of longing overtook him. A deep dissatisfaction that there were several agonising inches of empty space between them.

 

 

Keith lifted his hand to Lance’s jaw, causing the other man to flick him a curious gaze. Before he could question it, he drew his face toward him, pressing his forehead against his husband’s.

 

 

“Hey, everything alright?” Lance’s light tone masked a vein of concern.

 

 

“Yeah,” Keith drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes and just relishing the contact “everything’s great.”

 

 

Lance seemed to appreciate the sanctity of the moment; choosing not to make any quip about his mushiness. Instead he seemed to take a moment to consider a more thoughtful comment.

 

 

“ I don’t say this enough, Keith, but I-”

 

 

A shrill beeping sound sliced through the quiet of the dim room. Keith jerked forward; smacking his forehead into Lance, who yelped on impact. In an instant he was catapulted back to reality. The anxious buzzing in his skull struck up with a vengeance.

 

 

_Phone. Hospital. Krolia. Mum. Baby. Fuck._

 

 

He made several shaky attempts to fish his phone out of his jacket’s pocket. When the orange glass flashed before his face he saw a familiar short sequence of galran script. 

 

 

‘Mum.’

 

 

_Shit. Shit. Shit.  
_

 

 

Keith looked over at Lance. Lance looked back with bright eyes. The emergency line ring tone blared impatiently around them.

 

  
He hit the ‘accept call’ button, and a second later his mother came into view. For a moment she simply glared ahead of herself. Then, presumably having received the visual feed of her son, her gaze focused and her face softened into a smile.

 

  
“Good morning Keith. Lance.”

 

 

Keith could feel Lance peering over his shoulder. “morning.” It came out much too squeaky. Krolia didn’t seem to notice.

 

 

“ I apologise if my previous message seemed alarming. I was unable to send anything more comprehensive under the circumstances. Security and timeliness were a priority.” 

 

 

Krolia was sitting in what looked to be the hold of a small cargo ship. Her blade uniform didn’t show any signs of recent combat wear, but it was dull with a fine layer of dust; stark against the dark greys and blacks of her leaders’ sash. She looked tired, but not particularly stressed.

 

 

Keith managed to will himself to speak, instead of just staring stupidly at the screen. “Are you okay? What happened?”  


 

  
“I’m fine, Keith. Everyone is fine. We had some…Administrative trouble at the Faulkian outpost. That is all.”

 

  
“why are you covered in dust?”

 

 

Krolia looked at her sash as if noticing for the first time that it was indeed filthy with the stuff. “Oh. That was from before the outpost. We were called to a retrieval on quite a volatile stretch of territory. The conditions were less than satisfactory.”

 

 

Lance piped in from beside him “who’s ‘we’?”

 

  

“ I’m travelling with a field medic. She was the one who helped deliver the child, and the one that made the distress call that I received. Her name is Taroh.”

 

 

“The baby’s name is Taroh?”

 

 

“No. The medic’s name is Taroh. The baby is unnamed.”

 

 

“oh.” Lance said.

 

 

“ We will arrive on earth shortly. Some coalition scouts are taking us the last leg of the journey. We are set to dock in the fifth delivery bay, where we’ll all go through standard quarantine screening . Taroh and I will meet you in the general paediatric ward.” Krolia broke for a moment to take in their expressions. “Are you two OK?”

 

 

Keith became aware that his jaw was locked like a vice. Beside him, Lance was channeling the same tense energy as a bird on the verge of taking flight.

 

 

They must have looked ridiculous.

 

 

“Yeah, mum. We’re fine. Absolutely fine.” The grin he attempted felt an awful lot like a grimace.

 

 

Krolia gave them both a pitying look. “I’m going to send some text instructions. We’re about to fly through the first customs border, so I must cut out for a bit. If you have any questions send me a message. And both of you?”

 

 

They both stared owlishly at the screen.

 

 

“Breathe. You’re going to love her.”

 

 

With that, the feed flickered out of existence. Keith stared numbly at the orange tinted glass for several seconds, before looking up at Lance.

 

 

“She doesn’t have a name.” Lance said distantly “I thought she’d have a name…” He looked at Keith “what are we going to call her?”

 

 

Keith didn’t answer. He just turned to his phone when the cheery ping of a message alert sounded off. 

 

 

* _wash your face. It’s very greasy_

 

_*(Both of you)_

 

* * *

 

 

_‘_ Akira Kogane’, much to Keith’s surprise, was not a name completely lost to the cull of the Earth invasion. 

 

His dad had been a private man, but he had connections; mainly revolving around his job. They were weathered, scruffy-looking people with friendly faces that he’d occasionally have over for a drink and a game of poker. Keith remembered the smell of cigarette smoke wafting in from the porch and the amicable low buzz of conversation echoing through his old house’s living room. The way those guest would politely pretend not to notice him sneaking around and spying behind furniture, lest they spook Akira’s notoriously skittish little kid.

 

When Keith discovered one of those visitors was still alive and kicking, nearly two decades and one global alien invasion later, he’d made contact immediately; asking if he and his mother could meet him.

 

The man that opened his door to them- a retired fire chief whose wife and family had miraculously made it through the war and come to find a new homes in the outer reaches of the Garrison housing lots- went by the name of Daniel Harbek.

 

“Well I’ll be damned! The vengeful spirit of Akira has returned to claim the fifty bucks I owed him.” His huge grin faltered a little when his eyes shifted to Krolia. Keith had told him she was galra, but seeing her beside him in the flesh always inspired a little cognitive dissonance in people. “And you must be Krolia. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

Krolia took his outstretched hand after Keith, mindfully emulating a human handshake. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with us, Mr. Harbek.” She inclined her head politely. “I am glad to see you have remained in good health.”

 

“Call me Daniel.”

 

He’d waved them inside and served them up some alien import beer brand that Keith vaguely recognised. At their request,he started recounting everything he could about Keith’s late father; from how they met, to their first house fire call together to the hoverbike rallies they attended. 

 

Keith and Krolia had just sat there, listening. Keith trying to piece together an image of a man outside of the portrait of grief he was familiar with. Krolia…Well Keith wasn’t sure what she was thinking. She looked very far away. He wondered how many of these stories she’d already heard; spoken from another point of view in a voice she’d much rather be hearing.

 

Daniel himself seemed to be filling in a lot of gaps in his own memory, given the revelation of Keith’s heritage. 

 

“I always thought something was up. He’d always go on about his beautiful girlfriend, but he’d never show us pictures, or invite her ‘round for drinks or nothing. Guess I know why, now. At the time I thought he’d just made you up. He was always kind of an odd one.”

 

Daniel spoke with a hazy fondness. Like he was replaying a film in his head that he had a particular nostalgia for. One that had trickled to the back of his consciousness until he reached back and searched for it.

 

“And then a couple years later, boom! “He flourished the bottle in his hand “He had a kid. Right outta’ nowhere. Just came into work on his day off with a baby parade around. Didn’t say much about little Keith’s mama, but _man_ he never shut up about you, kid.” he smiled at Keith, before giving Krolia an apologetic look. “Forgive me ma’am but at the time we assumed you’d just plain ran out on him. He never said a mean word against you, though.We didn’t know whether to be happy for him or pity him.”

 

Krolia nodded at his comment, imitating a soft, fond expression. She and Keith had been down this path many times. They’d said everything that needed to be said and laid it to rest. So now, she said nothing. But he could see the difference it made, hearing it from her late lover’s point of view. In the hard edge to her eyes and the too-tense grip on her glass bottle.

 

“Akira stopped coming to work as much as you got older. Said he wanted to spend more time taking care of you ‘cause you weren’t handlin’ school too well. I wasn’t around when he went on that last call.” He took a swig of his drink “They called me in for the funeral. Don’t suppose you remember me being there. You were still so young.”

 

They talked on until dusk. About life, the invasion, the paladins, family. Small talk was easy nowadays. With so little notice, humanity had become collectively aware of intelligent alien life, brutally eviscerated by it and, in the aftermath, rebuilt alongside it. They were something new now, as a species. Something quieter and more aware. 

 

Kinder, Keith thought.

 

When it came time to leave, Daniel had halted them; asking them to wait as he shuffled out of the kitchen. He returned a minute later with a small paper envelope. He handed it to Keith.

 

“I fished these out after you called me. Figured you might want to keep them.”

 

The envelope contained nine pictures in total. Nine photos of Keith and his father.

 

They all looked to be taken in the same place. He recognised it by the maps and posters on the walls. The first-responders admin building. His dad would often bring him there after school. It always smelled like lavender and the old lady at the front desk gave him chalky mints from the glass bowl on the counter.

 

In each picture, they were smiling. Both of them. Like neither had a care in the world.

 

“He loved taking those dumb photos with you,” Daniel said softly, presumably taking in the stunned look on Keith’s face. “you made him happy, Keith. Don’t ever doubt that. Wherever he is- heaven or space or another dimension or whatever we’re supposed to believe in now- I think he’d be at peace, knowing that you’ve found your own.”

 

Keith hadn’t been able to respond to that. He just nodded his thanks, staring at the matching smiles -some of Keith’s earliest ones being all gum-captured on the glossy paper. He’d been so transfixed that he’d barely noticed his mother grasping the man’s arm with both hands, bowing her head and murmuring a string of esoteric galran blessings.

 

Daniel had looked pretty alarmed at that. There had been no way he could have realised that these were now the only mementos of her partner she had. The first time she’d seen his likeness - beyond the rift visions or his ghost Keith’s features- for twenty-five years. 

 

Keith’s only existing baby photos.

 

 Keith had gently pried her away. She didn’t cry- no full-blooded galra could- but her eyes were raw and unguarded and her voice shaky. He himself wasn’t so blessed. He could feel the wetness on his cheeks as he croaked out apologies and thank- yous to the older man, who looked a little guilty for having broken them like this.

 

Lance had made them both hot chocolate with extra marshmallows when they returned that evening; the pair of them physically and emotionally drained enough to bring out his prime hospitality instincts. He’d fawned over the photos of baby Keith and babbled thoughtfully about digital copes and framing. 

 

Krolia left a few hours later; each original photo having been backed up in triplicate by Lance (“I _promise_ they’ve scanned through properly, Krolia”) and the physical prints packaged safely in a hard case and stowed in her satchel. Lance had offered for her to stay the night, but she’d politely declined, saying she wanted some time alone before she returned to the Garrison HQ for mission briefing the next day. She gave them both a sound hug, Keith a kiss on the forehead and then walked off into the night. 

 

Lance hadn’t pried for more from Keith after that. He’d simply let him snuggle up to him in bed until the exhaustion took over and he drifted into sleep.

 

The next day, when Keith returned from a school board visit about integrating galran script as a language elective (as the first human-galra hybrid he’d become something of a poster boy for the movement), He noticed a new photo sitting amongst the forest of frames crowding their living room shelves.

 

It was him as a toddler, beaming beneath a far too big firefighter’s helmet, sitting in the crook of his dad’s arms. A copy of Lance’s favourite picture from the day before.

 

It was perched amongst all the other captured moments. Him and Shiro before the Kerberos launch. Lance’s bright family beach day photos from his early teens. The group shots they’d taken after earth’s liberation. The sea of rebel cliques and visitors that they’d met through the years. Him and Lance after their first official date, grinning with the reckless abandon of long-overdue lovers.

 

One photo took pride of place next to his father’s, though. One of himself, Krolia and Kosmo taken by Lance at his twenty-third birthday. The first official birthday party he’d had with her.

 

It was a time map of Keith’s family, finally put back together. Sitting amongst everyone else’s life threads. like it had never been apart from them at all.

 

Lance hadn’t seemed that surprised to find Keith crying in the middle of the living room when he walked in a few minutes later, but he’d pulled him into a hug, all the same, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he hiccuped.

 

“You guys look good together, huh?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Keith didn’t think he looked much like a dad.

 

He looked an awful lot like _his_ dad. The hair, the eyes, the broad build. Mostly Human.

 

But every time he thought of that vacant, waiting spot in their photo collection- just a touch to the right of their centrepiece wedding photo- he still felt a twinge of imposter’s guilt.

 

His reflection in the paediatric ward’s bathroom mirror didn’t help. 

 

Granted, he hadn’t had much time to plan his outfit before leaving, but the hefty leather jacket, dark, snug fit jeans and steel cap boots he’d thrown on weren’t exactly radiating paternal warmth. And that was without considering the messy ponytail, facial scar and the goddamn literal _fangs_ that had popped out a year ago. He looked like some kind of under-achieving crossroads demon.

 

His pastel blue shirt was OK, though. And his face looked a lot cleaner now. Less like he’d just woken up from sleeping face down on a cheese bake, anyway. So Keith was going to cut himself some slack. After all, Krolia didn’t really look like ‘a mother’, and she was…

 

Well, she probably wasn’t the _best_ case for a comparison.

 

But she loved him and she _tried_ so he could damn well do the same. Biker aesthetic or no. 

 

With one last swipe at the damp bangs sticking to his forehead, he returned to the hall. An equally less greasy Lance was waiting for him, leaning against the wall with his arms folded.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey yourself.”

 

They stood in silence.

  
  
“We should go.” Lance kept his eyes trained on him. “to the baby room. The ward.”

 

Krolia and the medic were waiting for them. They got the all-clear precisely four minutes ago. They were given a room number and everything.

 

“Yeah,” Keith said “we should.”

 

They continued to stand in silence. The muffled sound of a running sink echoed from a nearby hygiene station. It was nearly four AM and ominously quiet.

 

Keith swallowed, grabbed Lance’s hand and began walking down the hall; taking stock of the door numbers they passed. 

 

He felt that he should be more prepared. He had nothing on him but his wallet and bike keys. Even if he counted the mints and loose change in Lance’s back pocket, he was still feeling woefully under-packed. _Something_ was missing. Something he had to do or sign or be approved for.

 

They were going to give him a _baby_ for Christ's sake! They were just going to _do_ that _._ He asked and they said _yes_.

 

They said yes to an alien hybrid war veteran with a criminal record on several planets, a doggedly persistent case of PTSD and enough blood on his hands to colour his nightmares red for the rest of his now artificially extended life (thank you very much galra-standardised cross-species vitality injection for that one) and they were going to put a tiny helpless baby in his care. 

 

_Legally_.

 

To nurture and protect and _love_ like his life depended on it because the _baby’s_ sure as hell did. And he was so ready to give that love and protection. So ready after realising that love was better as a two-way deal. That he could give it so, so easy knowing that there were those he could count on to return it. 

 

He was ready to give at least one lost kid in this cold universe the love he longed for when he was like them.

 

Keith knew he was by no means the perfect candidate for a father. He didn’t claim to be. But he had Lance. So there was hope for him yet. After all, he’d never met a more perfect candidate than-

 

“Do you…think I’ll be a good dad?” 

 

Keith snapped out of his critical thought process and looked at Lance, unsure if he had actually heard that in his husband’s voice or if it had just been the echo of his own doubts again.

 

“huh? ” he said intelligently.

 

Lance kept their slow pace. He didn’t look up to meet Keith’s incredulous stare. When he spoke his voice was low. “Do you think I will make a good dad?”

 

He wasn’t joking. Wasn’t fishing for compliments or playing coy. 

 

Lance sounded kind of scared.

 

“I love kids. And most of the time they like me. But what if I…” Lance hesitated like he feared a backlash “what if I do this all wrong?”

 

Keith stared at him.

 

_What if I do this wrong?_

 

_What if I fuck this up?_

 

_What if they hate me?_

 

_What if you hate me because they hate me?_

 

It was a little eerie to hear these demons speaking through Lance. Keith had thought them all his own.

 

When Lance finally did meet his gaze Keith saw a strange vulnerability. For the first time, Keith considered the possibility that maybe Lance genuinely believed Keith would make a better dad than him. 

 

He laughed. 

 

It was a loud, dumb bark that caused a nearby night-shift ward nurse to flinch. Lance raised his eyebrows in alarm. Keith swallowed the laughter down to a low chuckle, wanting to nip this one in the bud.

  
  
“Lance if you think you’ve been anything but a model father since the moment I _mentioned_ adoption, I don’t know what to tell you. You’re clearly blind.”

 

Lance worked his mouth to respond, but Keith continued before he could actually form words. They were metres away from their future and he wasn’t having this. Not now. Not from Lance. Beautiful, wonderful, incredible,dumbass Lance.

 

“Look, there’s a kid three doors down from us that needs a loving family to take care of her. Do you want to be that loving family with me?”

 

“Yes.” He responded immediately. “ Of course I do”

  

“Then nothing else really matters, does it?”

  

“No. It doesn’t” Lance squeezed his hand tightly, giving him a big, sappy smile that made him feel all giddy and stupid.

  

“Good. Then let’s meet our daughter.”

 

* * *

 

Team Voltron never really ‘disbanded’, per se. 

 

It was more accurate to say they just adapted to suit the new era they, alongside the coalition, had ushered in.

 

Allura had been the first to leave for a grander duty. She and Romelle had left to build a shining new Altea for the recovered colony. Coran had stayed Earth as an Altean ambassador, but kept in close contact with her.

 

Shortly after Allura’s departure, they had both taken jobs at the Garrison. Keith as a Marmoran consultant and occasional Blade operative and Lance as a trainee instructor specialising in alien co-habitation and social induction in interstellar travel. 

 

Pidge and Hunk stayed under the Garrison’s banner as top class engineers and technicians. And Shiro as the Atlas’s captain. Voltron was barely needed. The lions were flown out for missions or diplomatic purposes but the legend was more than enough of a presence for the post-war situation.

 

They didn’t complain. They’d seen enough magical interstellar battle forlifetime. The odd coalition support mission suited them just fine.

 

In Allura’s absence, the blue lion lay at rest. Not hidden in a cave like before, but in a hangar with the company of her siblings. 

 

When she grew restless, Lance would take her out to fly. Keith knew the connection between them was still strong, just as his and Red’s was. A warm, possessive smolder at the back of his consciousness.

 

But flying Blue connected Lance to more than his formative paladin bond. The princess’s Memory pervaded her; forever melded with her sentient mind-scape. Blue was the piece of Allura that remained on earth. A memento of their star-crossed fate.

 

For a brief, petty while, Keith wished the princess had taken the lion with her. Back when he was still unsure in his relationship with Lance. When he still had those lingering demons in the corners of his consciousness that told him that Lance would disappear from their bed one morning; off to scour the universe for his true love because this this just _had_ to be too good to be true.

 

But Lance stayed in their bed. Year after year. And Keith’s doubts flaked away with every hand touch, every shared road trip to some peace convention somewhere, every quiet morning breakfast on their shared days off.

 

Lance knew how to handle Keith. How to navigate his caginess and stand adamant in the face of his temper. His was an endless, patient love that seemed tailored specifically to the frays and edges of his own faulted self.

 

Their relationship had progressed fairly rapidly after a fateful extended coalition meeting they had both been sent as representatives of Earth for. They’d spent a lot of time together with a lot to talk about and little to distract them. By the end of the trip they were sharing a hotel room, and their luggage was carelessly co-mingled.

 

Pidge was the first to find out. She had walked in on them in the Garrison tech wing staff kitchen; leaning against the counter and sharing a tender kiss before they went their seperate ways for the day. 

 

The loud crash of the smallest paladin trailing into a tray cart had alerted them to her intrusion. The look of genuine bewilderment was one Keith had never seen on the genius’ face before, and had he not been himself completely mortified at the interruption he would have savoured it. Lance had simply laughed as Keith smirked and chirped a good morning to her before breezing out into the hall. He could hear her shrill enquiries even through the metal door that slid shut behind him.

 

It had got out pretty quickly after that. Keith was almost offended at how surprised his teammates had been, like they had just been completely unaware of his years of pining after his first love. Hunk thought Lance and Pidge were pulling some elaborate prank. It took the black paladin several minutes of stony-facedaffirmation to convince him that he was indeed in a committed relationship with his right-hand man.

 

But the worst part had been Shiro and his insufferable ‘proud big brother’ schtick. A man could only take so much hair ruffling and beaming smiles.

 

His mother was unsurprised. She’d said he ‘smelled happy when he was around Lance’. Keith didn’t ask her to elaborate further. She seemed happy for him, though, and Lance soon became a frequent invitee at Marmoran and galran cultural events; a promising sign that she approved of the red paladin as a future in-law.

 

Krolia didn’t even seem to mind that Lance often made a culturally-inept ass of himself at said events. If anything she seemed to find it endearing. Or possibly entertaining. The events themselves were often dull.

 

 There was a certain irony in how well Lance seemed to click with galran culture. In the early days of Voltron he had been enamoured with the chivalrous romance of the Alteans. Through Allura and Coran, he’d built an image of an Arthurian Utopia. In his mind, probably one ruled over by his dashing self; the princess hanging off his arm and legions of adoring subjects surrounding him. The crown jewel in a universe of peace.

 

But like many fantasies, it was eventually eroded into something more sombre.

 

The reality was that the Alteans had been a powerful alien race like any other. Their history was emblazoned with noble deeds, but also sullied with war, conquest and bloodshed. Their peace built upon a moral ambiguity that only one growing up within it could be expected to ignore.

 

The Blades had a wealth of collected texts from the pre-empire era. During their time in the abyss his mother had taught him to read galran script using many that she had stored on her personal data logs. Aside from being a good bonding exercise, it had given him an insight into some of the less biased opinions of Altea, according to different planetary cultures and settlements.

 

Suffice to say, Zarkon was far from the only one who had a bitter word to say about them. 

 

Turns out the Alteans didn’t produce and harbour some of the most advanced offensive weaponry, planetary defences and off-planet terraforming technology of the era for _fun_.

 

Their supernatural histories were an even darker chapter in their interplanetary relations. Alteans were far from the only species to call upon divine cosmic forces; even the pre-monarchy galra of old had their own dedication to the supernatural arts. But certain historical texts from long before the empire suggested some factions on Altea liked to think they were the only species _worthy_ of it.

 

He didn’t think it was a coincidence that so few alien races seemed to have divine ancestral connections such as those boasted by the Alteans. Much less their own cosmic utopia and ancient guardians. How easily such knowledge could be erased through the planetary-wide witch hunts the preserved texts of lost civilisations described.

 

But to Allura, Altea- or at least the ideal of it- was the perfect centre of the universe. She had grown up in a time of peace, when such harrowing acts weren’t a necessity and could therefore be discreetly pushed into the annals of history and forgotten. She loved her people, her family and its peace and comfort. She loved _her_ Altea.

 

Allura would build an Altea better than the one she had grown up in. One that reflected the place and people she remembered, not the one that had actually existed.

 

The path for the galran race after the war was…Less direct.

 

Kolivan and Krolia found themselves in a difficult position as leaders. They were used to centuries of espionage and resistance. Their priority was to damage the progression of the empire and ideally survive long enough to do so with lasting effect.

 

Now that they operated in the open, their main goal was one of redemption. Attempting to integrate the most universally loathed alien race in the universe into peaceful society.

 

By the millions.

 

Across countless sectors, planets and societies.

 

Many empire defectors made their home on Earth. Despite the planet having been invaded by the empire, the hate for their race didn’t run quite as deep as the millennia-long chasms of loathing present within other planets’ communities. Others were re-homed in remote non-empire affiliated galran societies. Millions more worked to terraform and colonise any solid chunk of space rock that was big enough for a city or two.

 

It was a problem of cultural dissonance that wasn’t about to disappear over any of their lifetimes, artificially extended or no.

 

But cultures could be rebuilt. If Allura could build a new Altea, then the remaining blades could readjust the course of the galran race. It would just take time.

 

What surprised Keith was just how _into it_ Lance had become. He never struck Keith as being particularly invested in alien culture, but the red paladin adored going to even the most menial of galran cultural gatherings. 

 

Blade graduate ceremonies, recoveries of Luxite artefacts stolen by the empire, Mixed-race support group functions. If Krolia could drag Keith along, then Lance was sure to follow.

 

The most endearing event had been a birthday party of a five-year-old galran girl named Krolia. Adult Krolia had saved the child’s mother and her family’s life many years prior, becoming the namesake of the woman’s firstborn as a result. They’d been trying to get a hold of the blade leader since the little fluff ball’s birth.

  

Lance had spent hours giving the boisterous child piggybacks and letting her make fun of his ears and ‘weird head fur’. It was an impressive feat given her high bone density and muscle mass made her weigh approximately twice as much as a human child her age. Not to mention galra kids were more than a little rough and tumble. Their claws and teeth took years to reign into a socially appropriate level and Lance had the scratches to prove it for days after.

 

The kid practically attached herself to Lance’s leg when it was time to leave, only being consoled when he told her she could visit him on Earth some day along with ‘my cute boyfriend and the less cool Krolia’.

 

It was always obvious to Keith that lance would be a kickass dad, but it was at that moment that he realised he might actually like to experience that on a very real and tangible level one day.

 

And then he realised that he had reached a point where he was actually considering fatherhood with Lance.

 

That had been a bit of a stunner for him if he was being honest. 

 

He spent most of the trip back to earth staring at the candy bracelet an adorably incoherent mini-Krolia had threaded onto his wrist. Lance sat next to him blissfully unaware of his epiphany,scrolling through the cute pictures he’d taken. 

 

Keith felt the candy beads ghosting over his skin days after the sticky residue had washed off.

 

He’d found himself becoming hyper aware of children in general after that. Kids milling about the garrison grounds. Alien babies that their fans insisted they give their blessings to. Lance’s nieces and nephews; who charmingly referred to him as ‘Uncle mullet’, most likely at their real uncle’s request.

 

Hell, He volunteered- _actually volunteered_ \- to be a guest speaker on the galra race at a local primary school. Lance damn near swooned on the spot when he brought it up casually during dinner.

 

“Keith,” He’d said in a serious tone; threatening him with the piece of ravioli skewered on his fork “you are already extremely attractive and badass. Being good with kids…” He sucked air in between his teeth “ That’s some dangerous power you’re playing with, mister. I don’t know if I’d survive.”

  

The joy dancing in Lance’s eyes when he saw the class photos from the visitmade Keith fairly comfortable with taking his chances.

  

* * *

  

The walked into the small suite to the image of Krolia and a tall galran woman seated around a cot. Keith immediately felt an unspoken command to keep his volume dow. 

 

Judging by Lance’s choice to NOT belt out a loud greeting, he felt it too.

 

His mother turned her attention to them and smiled warmly. She looked even more tired in the flesh; having changed into some less intimidating casual wear and shedding her fortified leader countenance with the uniform. both she and the other galran, who was in similar casual wear, stood to greet them.

 

 “It’s good to see you two,” she enveloped them both in a single economic hug “I’m sorry for the wait.” She motioned to the other woman “This is Taroh."

  
  
Taroh was tall. About a head taller than his mother, but she carried herself with much less of a martial presence. Her skin was a light lavender with subtle white markings. Her neck had some unnaturally uniform scarring. Collar imprints, Keith recognised. A common mark for ex-prisoners.

 

“Good morning paladins. Krolia has told me all about you, atop of what I had already heard. It is an honour to meet you both.” Her voice was soft, but carried a firm undercurrent. “And even greater of an honour be of assistance to you.”

 

She held out her arm in greeting. Keith held out his own, grasping her arm in the typical galran way. She had some intricate circular pattern tattoos on the back of her hands. Old galran healing charms. He’d never actually seen them on skin before. They were conspicuous and extremely illegal under the empire regime. She may as well have had “anarchist” tattooed in galran across her forehead.

 

“The honour is all ours,” Lance said, following suit. His actions were a little stilted and he was pointedly not looking in the direction of the cot. He was clearly burning to see what lay inside. “how was the trip over?”

 

“ Long, but mostly uninterrupted. Travelling with a child this young is often difficult. Fortunately, she is a good sleeper.”

 

In a move that took them both by surprise, Taroh stepped to the side and gestured towards the cot. Keith looked at her, then at Lance who looked back at him. Then, he looked at his mother. She simply smiled and motioned her head toward the tiny structure.

 

Because they didn’t have any other excuses or delays lined up, Keith and Lance walked to the cot and looked inside.

 

...

 

Oh. 

 

 

She was very small.

 

  

Like really small. Really, _really_ small.

 

 

“Lilac purple…” Lance said. Because of course he fucking did. Of course that would be the first thing he said.

 

Keith had seen baby galra before. Quite a few, in fact. But never outside of the protective grasp of a parent. In the small expanse of the crib, she was dwarfed by the crisp white of the sheets. Her light purple skin was peeking out of a hospital-supplied sleeveless cotton onesie.

 

She was, as Lance had observed, a pale lilac. the fluff covering the top of her head and the tips of her tiny pointed ears marked her as a galra of the more furry variety. Her chubby face was dappled with white and dark purple spots. Ones that would likely connect into more pronounced markings as she grew. 

 

It was her eyes that drew Keith’s attention. She had a distinctive maroon stripe running vertically over each closed eyelid, extending from her brow down to her cheek.

 

“she’s an Ivanni.” The statement breezed out of him. It probably wasn’t that much better than Lance’s but he, at least, wasn’t known for his verbosity.

 

“She is.” Krolia’s voice was hushed. Fondness flowed through it. “I’m surprised you remember that term.”

 

It was one of the few galran ethnic groups he could recall from Krolia’s lessons all those years ago in the abyss. Most galra, empire-abiding or otherwise- could boast a lineage to some historical genetic pool if they felt so inclined. Not many of the former would care to do so if they found they had Ivanni heritage, though. As long-time refusers of empire imposition, they weren’t exactly welcome in their ranks.

 

It was no secret that the empire detested half and mixed galra. But they had a special kind of hatred for full-blooded galra who refused their ways. The Ivanni were so elusive and small in number that most generally assumed they had been eradicated. 

 

Not this one apparently.

 

Next to him, Lance was just staring at the tiny sleeping bundle. It was an odd reaction. He usually fell to pieces just at the sight of babies.

 

Seemingly sensing the fact that neither Keith nor Lance was going to say anything coherent any time soon, Krolia spoke. 

 

“Taroh was sent in to assist with a body count after a loyalist stronghold was scattered by her coalition team. She found the child’s mother; heavily pregnant and wounded. The woman asked her to save her baby as a priority over her own life. The child survived the procedure. Her mother succumbed to her injuries shortly before she was born.”

 

Keith swallowed. The recount hung oddly in the room. Unreal in the peace of the moment. 

 

That explained why the baby didn’t have a name. Galra never spoke their child’s name before they were born. It was a constant across nearly all of their sub cultures.

 

Taroh picked up the conversation “Her mother was the only Ivanni there. She carried a small blade but didn’t wear the clothes of a faction. We couldn’t find anyone accompanying her, nor did she claim there were any such people. I do not know where her loyalties lay. Which side of the battle she was being protected from. How she got there. She refused to even give me her name. I assume she wanted to present neutrality, thinking that any allegiance she held might risk the safety of her child.” 

 

Her heavy gaze passed to them. “I wish I could tell you more, but I’m afraid I have little more to share than the her time of death and that of this one’s birth.”

 

 Keith nodded, looking back at the sleeping newborn. “How-” something feeble caught in his throat. He coughed “how old is she?”

 

“ Approximately two days, accounting for time dilation.” 

 

Beside him, Lance made a noise.

 

“Can we hold her?” Keith asked. He could barely hear his own voice.

 

Taroh smiled “Of course. She is quite healthy, despite being premature.” 

 

Beside her, his mother was gazing at him with a devastatingly soft expression. 

 

Keith faced his husband, who was still looking a little shell-shocked. He placed a hand on the back of his shoulder.

  
“You first.”

 

Lace looked at him, bewildered.

  
  
“It should be you. I know you want to.”

 

 Lance nodded dumbly and, with one last long stare at her-as if trying to commit the moment to memory- he reached down into the crib and scooped her up with a fearful reverence; tucking her tight against his chest. She barely stirred in his grasp; just a slight twitch to her nose as she was shifted.

 

And right on cue, Lance started crying.

 

Silent tears welled in his eyes and spilt onto his cheeks. It was unfortunate because Keith just fucking _knew_ it was going to set him off too. 

  

He could keep himself together when Lance cried from grief or frustration or after waking up from a particularly bad nightmare. He could be the support he needed in those dire hours.

 

But when Lance was beaming like the sun with tears running down his face; dripping onto the fabric below, unable to wipe them away because his arms were full of baby? _their baby_? 

 

He didn’t stand a chance.

 

“ Oh my God, Keith.” His voice was heart-achingly watery “she’s…she’s so…”

 

“Purple?” Keith supplied, feeling the contagion of Lance’s ridiculous smile.

 

Lance let out a mindfully muted laugh “I was going to say ‘perfect’, but yeah that too.” He sniffed grossly “christ, I can’t believe this is finally happening. She’s _right here_.” Keith wondered if Lance realised he’d started swaying ever so slightly. For a spellbound few minutes he simply stared at her. Then, as if remembering something urgent, he looked up at him. “You have to hold her.”

 

In all honesty, Keith thought he would have been more nervous than he was. Worried that he would drop her or wake her up and she would cry and scream and hate him. But now the moment was here he just really, _really_ wanted to take her into his arms.

 

 when Lance gently passed her over to him, the warmth that blossomed in his chest instantaneously rewarded his decision. Her tiny, _tiny_ little body fit perfectly in the crook of his arm. Her weight and warmth were suddenly the most reassuring thing in the world. And the little grunt she made against the soft leather of his jacket when he adjusted her position damn near lethally impaled him.

 

Fucking galran paternal instincts. He prayed to his own traitorous physiology not to start up with those weird chesty rumbling noises (which were absolutely _not_ purrs, Lance) on the spot. He could feel the warmth in his belly that usually preceded such an onslaught. It had happened once before when he held an infant mixed galra at an alien daycare they had visited a few months ago to deliver vaccines for the local, extremely understaffed hospital. He’d been mortified. Lance had been beside himself with delight.

 

And now, as a final indignity, he could feel those damn tears tracing around the contours of his dumb smile and dripping onto her cotton onesie. 

 

God, lance was right. He really had gone soft. And worse yet, he didn’t even _care_.

 

“ So what do you think?” His mother’s voice brought him back to reality.

 

Keith looked at her “huh?”

 

"Are you willing to adopt her?”

 

“We’re not leaving this hospital without her,” Lance said resolutely; channelling Keith’s own thoughts quite eerily.

  

Krolia grinned at his statement. “I’m glad to hear it. Taroh and I will give you some privacy, now. We need to check in with the child welfare council that we received clearance through. They will want to send through some confirmation forms through for the two of you. This would be a good time to think of a name.”

 

Oh shit, yeah. She needed a name. They had to name her. Because that’s what parents did when they had kids.

 

“Please call us or the ward nurses if you need help with anything. I expect she will wake soon for feeding. Don’t let her size fool you. She eats like a champion.”

 

Shit, they needed to feed her too. this was all moving so fast. Keith nodded dumbly in his mother’s direction.

 

Krolia stopped at the door, opening it for Taroh, who gave them a respectful nod before walking out. The Blade leader gave them a lingering look. “I truly believe that this child could not find a better home than she will find with you two. Know that.”The door enclosed them in the room with an echoing click when she left.

 

 Keith stared at the space where she had been for several seconds before turning to face Lance. His face was damp with tears and just a little awed. 

 

They’d only ever considered names during idle banter or as a joke. By adopting, they thought naming rights would be out of their hands. Galra held very strongly to their birth names, after all. No adoption institution would allow renaming.

 

Keith recalled one of Lance’s favourite names. One he’d batted around a lot when the subject came up and one that Keith always kind of liked too.

  
  
“Riley?”

 

Lance looked at him. Then looked at the infant. “You know…I think it suits.” 

 

that was that, then. 

 

Riley Kogane-Mcclain started crying a few minutes later, terrifying her fathers with a profundity any anti-coalition force would envy.

 

______________________________________________

 

“Lance it’s not even six on a Sunday morning. Nobody is going to be up.”

 

Th red paladin was furiously tapping away at his tablet screen “I’ve waited long enough already. Everybody gets baby alert and they get it _now_.” 

 

Keith sighed in defeat and sunk further into his delightfully comfy armchair. They’d just put Riley to bed after a feeding and now Lance had taken up communication duties. The texts were going to be riddled with typos. His exhausted husband was keeping his eyes open through force of will alone at this point.

 

“I’m sure Shiro will be up, at least. He often goes to the gym on his free mornings.” Krolia was sitting on their couch, nursing a cup of herbal tea, Kosmo curled up net to her.“I expect he would rather meet his niece, though. You _have_ sent him a message, haven’t you Keith?”

 

“I got it covered” Lance waved a hand in her general direction without looking up from his screen. She gave Keith a deadpan look.

 

“How do you even _know_ that, mum?”

 

“Because I am often there on my free mornings, as well. We spar sometimes.” She took a sip from her cup “He is one of the only decent human fighters in the Garrison.” 

  

Shiro was also the only human game enough to spar with his mother’s Blade trainees when they visited the Garrison grounds.

 

Ironically, he was probably in less danger than he would be fighting other human combatants. Not one of the Marmorans would dare do him any serious harm, and their flawless self-control meant that training accidents were virtually non-existent.

 

But they _looked_ a hell of a lot more intimidating than even the most physically imposing human, so the captain-gone-admiral had still earned some serious street cred for that.

 

Kosmo whined for attention and Krolia absently scratched him behind the ear. He’d been a sappy mess since they arrived back from the hospital. Every few minutes he’d poof into the nursery to check on he sleeping newborn. It was as if Keith had channeled all his new-father nerves into his poor wolf and now they were both suffering because of it.

 

At least Kosmo liked her, though. He didn’t need a jealous, sulky cosmic wolf to deal with on top of a baby.

 

“ Kolivan sends his best wishes, by the way. He vouched for you and Lance when we hit an administrative snag on the way back to Earth. Be sure to thank him next time you meet.”

 

Keith hummed in acknowledgement. Kolivan made visits to earth fairly regularly for conferences and the like. Unlike Krolia, who opted to make her base of operations on Earth, the older Blade leader settled into operating from the new Blade HQ a few lightyears away.

 

Truthully, Krolia was overqualified for an Earth placement. She was often called off-planet to head some trickier missions, but refused to uproot herself for too long. She’d finally settled into something that resembled a home and family on the humble blue planet and she wasn’t about to give it up. Not again.

 

As a solution, she’d basically just made her own Marmoran outpost on Earth. Keith wasn’t sure about the legitimacy of creating said outpost, but nobody was really going to _stop_ her.

 

Keith felt a comfort in having her around. And never more so than now. She knew a hell of a lot more about galra kids than he or Lance did.

 

_“When your friends visit, make sure they give wait five minutes before touching her. You smell galra enough, and so does Lance by proximity, but she’ll get upset if a_ _stranger species handles her before she gets used to their scent.”_

 

_“ Only scratch her behind the ear when she’s already sleepy. If you do it when she’s ansty it’ll just make things worse.”_

 

_“ Don’t dress her in loose fabric weaves; her claws will snag and she could hurt herself.”_

 

_“If you need her to release her grip on you, press between her shoulder blades and she’ll let go long enough for you to remove her. Only do this if absolutely necessary. Too often and she’ll develop trust issues._ ”

 

She rattled off the instructions like a living parenting manual and Keith wondered just how many wayward galra babies had come into her temporary care over the centuries. There was something all too heartbreaking about the softness of her features when she cradled Riley. Like a part of her expected her to disappear at any moment.

 

Krolia had a great many scars, but those of a fractured parenthood seemed to run particularly deep. He was beginning to understand himself how that must have felt.

 

 But hey, that’s what people said right? Being a parent changed the way you see the world/ universe and all that crap. The important thing was his mother was around to make sure he didn’t give his galran daughter a skin rash by using bath products containing rosemary or some other galran allergen.

 

“Are you two sure you will be alright today? I can delay today’s training schedule if you want me to stay longer. I’m sure nobody would mind.” She murmured the last part. Some of her newer recruits weren’t exactly the most spirited of trainees. The price of straying from the high flying action of active war zones.

 

“I think we can handle it now, Krolia. The others are probably going to be hanging around most of the day anyway. Trust me, when my mum gets here we’re going to have to physically push her out the door to get her to leave again.” Lance’s sentence tapered off with a hearty yawn.

  
Her gaze passed to Keith.

 

“Yeah, don’t worry, mum. We’re good.”

 

“Very well. If you have any concerns at all just send me a message. I will respond immediately.”

 

The ping of Lance’s message receiver sounded through the quiet room. Lance’s eyebrows shot up; instantly making him look wide awake.

 

“Ha! You were right, Krolia- Shiro _is_ up.” Lance’s eyes darted back and forth over the message “And he is losing his _shit_. Guess he’s skipping gym this morning to come straight here.”

 

 “I think I will take that as my cue to leave. It seems like it may get crowded in here very soon.” Krolia gave Kosmo’s mane one last ruffle and stood. “Remember-“

 

“ -to keep our voices down and only let them handle her when she’s already awake because premature babies need lots of uninterrupted sleep.” Keith flashed her a tired smile “We know. We’ve got this.”

  

His mother strode over to him with a sigh “Forgive me. Repetition to the point of annoyance has always been my fallback.” Her hand came to rest against his cheek “but allow me to repeat how proud I am of you, Keith. Congratulations.”

 

Keith grinned and shied away from her too-warm gaze. She had the remarkable ability to make him feel a five year old being praised for his 10/10 spelling test when she looked at him like that. “Thanks. For everything.”

 

“Are you proud of me?” Lance chirped from his place at the kitchen table

 

The blade leader rolled her eyes. Regarding her son-in-law, it had long since become an affectionate gesture. “Yes, Lance. I could not have chosen a finer partner for my son had I been assigned the mission myself.”

 

“Darn tootin’,” Lance said; presumably trying to see how quick he could get Krolia to eat her words.

 

She seemed to be in a good enough mood to let it slide. “Oh, and I may as well give this to you now. Taroh gave it to me before I left the hospital.”

 

Krolia pulled a small cloth bundle from her satchel, unwrapping it to reveal a simple, but well-maintained dagger.

 

 “The knife that belonged to Riley’s mother. I leave it with you to gift to her as you see fit.”

 

Keith took the weapon gingerly. It wasn’t luxite like his own, but the metal had a distinct otherworldly blue shimmer and weighed heavily in his hands. Definitely something expensive. cherished.

 

He heard Lance draw in a breath to speak.

 

“No, Lance. Mystery blade bequeathal in not a thing that all Galra mothers do. I assure you this is a coincidence.”

 

Lance shrugged “I would just own it. It’s a cool concept.”

  

“Noted.” Pressing one last kiss to Keith’s forehead, Krolia grabbed her satchel and made her way to the door; ruffling Lance’s hair on the as she passed in her special way that made it look messy for the next twelve hours.

  

“I’ll have someone return your bike from the hospital this evening. Enjoy your first day as fathers.” She gave them a smirk before the door clicked shut behind her.

  

Moments later Keith was pushed mercilessly deep into the plush back of his chair when Lance dropped onto him.

 

  
“What are you doing?” the flurry of light kisses Lance was pressing against his face was ruining his attempted deadpan.

 

“I’m enjoying my first day as a father.” 

 

“Somehow I don’t think this is what she meant.”

  

“You complaining?”

 

“No,” Keith suppressed a giddy snort when Lance nipped at his earlobe “but Shiro is going to be here soon. I don’t think this is the scene he’s excited to see.”

 

“Hey, we’re parents now. We have to learn to fit as much lovin’ as possible into small time frames. This is good practice.”

 

“Fuck that, You’re just horny.”

 

“curb the swears, Daddy.”

 

“Everything you say is making this less sexy.”

 

“Then shut me up .”

 

Keith did just that by pulling him into a deep kiss.

 

He broke their contact too soon as if to prove a point. A sigh from lance’s lips trailed between them.

 

“I really do love you, you know.”

 

“I know. I love you, too.”

 

“Our lives are so weird.”

  

Keith hummed in agreement, absently pushing a strand of hair behind Lance’s ear. He’d want to get a haircut again soon. “'That bother you?”

 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

 

“Glad to hear it.” Keith smirked up at his husband “Now are you going to make sweet, tired love tome or not?”

  

Lance answered by capturing his lips with his own.

  

From across the room, Keith heard Kosmo whine. The electrical crackle that followed indicated there were places he’d rather be.

  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! :^)


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